


Just My Type of Thug

by AnnaNSmith



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Engagement, Episode 10x10 Coda, Episode: s10e10 Now Leaving Illinois, Explicit Language, Fluff and Smut, Gallavich, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Rings, Season/Series 10, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaNSmith/pseuds/AnnaNSmith
Summary: Post 10x10. Mickey and Ian celebrate their engagement with lots of fucking and a graphic amount of swear word riddled love confessions.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 244





	Just My Type of Thug

Ian doesn’t really want this to end yet. They’ve been lazily fucking for close to an hour now, enjoying the languid rhythm connecting them where he thrusts into Mickey. He has his head burrowed into Mickey’s neck, likes how their sweat mingles and their skins brush against each other. It’s hot, but not heated. He likes the feeling of breathing against the hollow of Mickey’s neck, likes how his damp exhales reflect back. He just lies there, pushing into Mickey in a steady pace, listens to them breathe and letting the sound of their hips snapping together hang in the air. They are both uncharacteristically quiet, letting the moment be. Ian brushes his nose along the curve of Mickey’s neck, breathing in his scent, expecting the small twitches it cajoles. He likes to follow up by licking up to behind his ear, coming around to nibbling lazily at Mickey’s ear lobe. It’s not often Mickey lets him do this. He even sinks his fingers into his hair, brushing through the strands, pulling his head just the tiniest bit closer. And Ian responds by inhaling into the shell of Mickey’s ear and exhaling a soft groan on a more erratic, harsher thrust. Mickey echoes him and turns his head slightly into his, eyes closed. He presses against him, closes his eyes as well, and thrusts a little upward in order to hit that spot inside harder. Mickey’s fingers in his hair tighten, exhaling roughly to the beat of him pushing in. He enjoys the quiet sounds he entices whenever he rocks into him. Enjoys how Mickey just lies beneath him, pliant, his left leg wrapped around his back thigh, his other spreading wide to allow him to delve deep inside. He fixates on hitting that spot with every lazy thrust, sighing at the thought that this will be over soon. He’d like to go on forever. His mind is hazy with lust, but clear of any thought that isn’t their bodies writhing to the same rhythm, of any thought that is outside this bedroom, outside of the confines of their bed. They started out urgent and heavy, fucked so hard the bed scratched the paint off the wall. It was wild and loud and fun. Round one was celebration. Just got engaged sex. Riling each other up, calling each other names, fucking in all kinds of positions. Climaxing to a cataclysm of jubilation. Round two is affirmation. Letting reality sink in that they fucking chose each other. That this is it. That their bodies will forever slot together like this. That there’s nothing else and nothing else needed. It’s heady and despite the long old familiarity, it feels like their bodies are getting to know each other again. Their nerve endings hypersensitive to the barest of touches. It’s quiet and peaceful. And Ian just doesn’t really want this to end yet.

Mickey tightens more often around him now and he’s moved to stroke his dick. Ian pulls his hand away and takes over for him. He pushes in more urgently now, close to losing his own control. As his hips become more and more erratic, Mickey’s exhales turn harsher. He tightens the grip on Mickey’s dick slightly, coaxing the orgasm out in rhythm to the pointed jabs to his prostrate. Mickey collapses as if all strings were cut, breathing heavily. Ian is a few aimless thrusts behind him and then comes inside a second time tonight.

Their erratic breathing echoes quietly in the room. They lay stretched out next to each other, letting the high settle. A few minutes pass in silence until Ian can hear Mickey rustling on the night stand, followed by the click of a lighter, and the drag of lips sucking in smoke. Like a string pulled, his torso lifts up and turns to settle on Mickey’s chest. His chin rests on his hand right above Mickey’s tattoo, passively staring up to the cigarette butt vanishing behind Mickey’s lips. Mickey moves his left hand under the pillow, so his head’s elevated enough to look down at Ian, takes a drag from the cigarette and then holds it to Ian’s own lips. Ian doesn’t move except to slot his mouth over the filter, inhaling the soothing smoke, all the while keeping his eyes on Mickey’s. He exhales to the side and goes in for another drag. Mickey snips off the ashes in their makeshift ashtray and then takes a puff himself. Ian can feel him inhaling beneath him, moves with him to the intake of his lungs.

“Engaged sex, huh,” Ian says casually.

“Who’d have thought,” Mickey agrees.

“Think married sex will be even better?” Ian muses lazily.

“Can’t imagine how,” Mickey replies, holding the cigarette to Ian’s mouth.

Ian nods softly in agreement and then exhales.

“Ian?” Mickey calls for attention.

“Yeah?”

“You realize you’re lying in my jizz, right?” Mickey asks, eyebrows raised expectantly, pointing with his eyes briefly to his stomach.

Ian simply hums in affirmation, staring at the uneven letters right under his nose.

“That’s gonna turn real icky in a few minutes, you know that, right?” Mickey raises one of his eyebrows higher.

Ian hums again, still preoccupied with the skin beneath him.

“Come on, man,” Mickey complains.

“We can take a shower later,” he replies unfazed, moving his pinky finger softly over the first three letters.

Mickey sighs in defeat and lights another cigarette, settling back, since apparently they won’t be getting up for a while. They share the smoke in silence, Ian’s attention still fixed elsewhere and Mickey caressing his fingers through Ian’s sweat mussed hair.

“You’ll need to start learning how to spell Gallagher if you take my name,” Ian points out after a few minutes of silence.

“Fuck you,” he swears, pushing Ian’s head away without heat. Ian simply settles back into his position looking at the misspelled tattoo. “Who says I’ll even take your stupid name, huh? I’m a Milkovich.”

Ian looks up at that, staring in thought. “Yeah… Mickey Milkovich has a better ring to it. Besides, think it would piss your dad more off, if I took your name. Two queers by the name Milkovich. That’s gotta hurt his homophobic sensibilities.”

That has Mickey laughing, squeezing Ian’s neck once in appreciation. “Love that. Ian Milkovich,” he hums approvingly. “Though I might miss calling you Gallagher.”

“Also, what are we gonna do about your tattoo?” Ian says, looking down at it.

“Double name?” Mickey proposes.

“Too long,” Ian replies and Mickey agrees. “Let’s put a pin on choosing names for now,” he says and changes topics. “I would like to stay here in this house with Debbie, Franny, Carl, and Liam. Doesn’t mean forever, but for now.”

Mickey thinks about the idea for a moment. “Okay. But I ain’t giving two shits if they see us banging ‘round the house. If I wanna fuck my husband over a plate of flapjacks, it’s gonna happen, no shit.”

Ian raises an eyebrow at that comment. “Let’s at least try shelter Franny from kinky gay flapjack fucks before she turns eight. I promise I will make it worth your while.”

“You better,” Mickey warns.

“Honeymoon?” Ian asks.

“Not that we have the money. Besides can’t leave according to our probation requirements,” Mickey explains.

“Extended weekend stay at a cheesy, run-down motel on the outskirts? Should be able to scrape the money together for that.”

“Romantic,” Mickey mocks.

“You want me to scatter rose petals and carry you to bed? Don’t be a pussy. I want a place to ourselves after the wedding where I can fuck your brains out non-stop,” Ian says matter-of-fact. “If you want I can order room service and fuck you over flapjacks at breakfast.”

Mickey hums agreeably. “Non-stop?”

  
Ian hoists himself up until he’s staring down Mickey’s face from an inch away. He licks once at Mickey’s lower lip and then slips in, coaxing Mickey’s tongue playfully for a second. “Non-stop.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mickey whispers into Ian’s open mouth. He attempts to lean up to meet Ian for a kiss, but the latter pins him down, avoiding him. He slowly sinks down and brushes their mouths together, no pressure behind it yet, retreating back when Mickey wants to deepen the kiss. Pointedly he dips down again, foregoing Mickey’s lips to sink his teeth into his chin instead. “You’re such a tease,” Mickey utters annoyed. Ian licks a stripe back up to Mickey’s mouth and nips leisurely on Mickey’s lower lip. “Bitch, will you kiss me already?” Mickey exclaims exasperated. Ian looks him in the eyes for a moment and then angles his head, slots their lips together, and slips his tongue inside, meeting Mickey’s in a lazy pull and tug.

“We forgot something,” Ian says softly above Mickey’s lips. He reaches for the drawer of their nightstand, pulls it open, and blindly feels around until he finds what he is looking for and shuts the drawer with a dull bang. Unceremoniously, he grabs for Mickey’s hand slides the white gold band on his ring finger. Then does the same with his own ring.

Mickey holds his hand up above him, quietly examining it in the dim streetlight coming through the window.

“Sorry I was an asshole,” Ian says, kissing Mickey’s chin.

“Sorry I broke your leg,” Mickey returns, meeting his eyes.

“Seems to be our unique way of communication.” Ian shrugs, remembering all the times they brawled. Hell, it’s how they got together in the first place.

“While I’m sorry for breaking your leg, I still think you owe me for the shit you pulled at city hall,” Mickey says, clearly chagrined over the the past week’s events.

“Okay,” Ian concedes easily. “How can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t know,” he answers exasperated. “Think of something.”

“How about you get one wish, I’ll do whatever you want, no questions asked. And I’ll owe you 50 apology hummers. Cash ‘em in whenever you want,” Ian proposes casually.

“50? Bullshit,” Mickey exclaims.

“I’m gonna be your husband, that sound high to you for our first year of marriage?” Ian asks, raising his eyebrow.

Mickey eyes him dubiously, thinking it over. “35 and the rest you pay off in ass-eatin’.”

“Deal,” Ian agrees easily, pecking him on the mouth. He reaches for the pack of cigarettes and lights one above him. He shares a look with Mickey and then tears his eyes to Mickey’s mouth. He dips down, coaxes his lips open with his, and exhales. Mickey breathes in the smoke and submits to a long kiss until they break off and he exhales the smoke back through his nose. “Can I ask you something?”

Mickey raises his eyebrow expectantly for him to go ahead. Ian lets him take a drag from the cigarette before he continues.

“You really seem to have a type, huh?” Upon Mickey’s quizzical look he elaborates. “Byron. Red-head.”

“You really wanna talk about Byron now?” Mickey asks skeptical.

“Not about Byron. About your type,” Ian corrects.

“The hell is this coming from?”

“Just wondering if you had looked at me at all when we first met, if I wasn’t a red-head,” he thinks out loud, settling his chin on Mickey’s clavicle.

“The fuck does that matter now?” Mickey asks, trying to figure out where Ian is going with this.

“Looking at the gene roulette in my family, I could have easily ended up a brunette. Or black, like Liam,” he muses. “Would have changed my whole life. I wouldn’t be here right now,” he says, looking up at Mickey.

“Dude, why are you getting all sentimental on this shit?” Mickey replies. His eyes flicker around for a moment, he licks his lips, and sighs defeated. “Look, at this point I’m actually not sure, if I find you attractive because you’re a ginger, or I find red-heads attractive because of you.”

Ian looks up at him amused, silently rocking in laughter. “You sap.”

“Alright, alright, asshole. You brought it up,” Mickey says, taking the last drag of the cigarette and blowing it in Ian’s face spitefully. Ian coughs and swats his chest annoyed in return. “’S not like _you_ have a type. Among towelhead, that geriatric viagroid, and I don’t even know what that was you brought tonight as your date, it’s a miracle you stumbled into my bed when you did. Not to mention all the _boyfriends_ you had while I was serving time.”

“I might have gone out with different people, but I still think I have a type,” Ian replies.

“That being?” Mickey inquires dubiously.

“Must be a real South Side trash,” Ian starts, earning a _bitch_ in response. “Needs to swear a fuck load. That’s real hot,” he adds mockingly.

“Don’t pretend your ass doesn’t like it, shithead,” Mickey shoots back, daring Ian to contradict him.

“I got used to it,” Ian simply replies.

“Sure, because the Gallaghers are poster boys of manners,” Mickey points out, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up and let me continue,” he demands, pinching Mickey’s nipple.

“ _Ow_ , you bitch,” Mickey cries out. He tries to retaliate, bucking Ian off, reaching for his nipples, but Ian fights him off and pins his hands on either side of his head.

He stares down, faces only inches apart. “Blue eyes,” he continues. “Must have real blue eyes.”

“What else?” Mickey asks curiously now, running his hand down Ian’s side, squeezing his ass.

“Tattoos. Preferably one of my name. Plus points for misspelling,” Ian quips softly.

  
  
“You will never let that go, will you?” Mickey asks, sighing in exasperation.

“Nope.”

“Okay, okay… We’ve got blue eyes and tattoos. Anything else?”

  
“Must have a nice dick,” he adds, glancing down their bodies. Mickey hums appreciatively, pushing his pelvis up in acknowledgment. “Definitely has to be a bossy bottom bitch,” Ian declares, earning himself a slap to his ass.

“That all?”

“Should have at least broken out of prison once,” he continues, resting his chin on Mickey’s.

Mickey’s laughter vibrates against his jaw line. “At least once, huh?”

“I’d like it if he stabbed a guy in there. Shows real prison character,” Ian adds. “Should be able to make a shiv out of everything.”

“I agree, ‘s an important skill for everyday life,” Mickey chuckles, kneading further into Ian’s skin.

“He must pack a mean punch. Can’t get my dick up for a pussy who can’t fight,” Ian goes on casually.

“You get in a lot of fights?” Mickey quips playfully.

“Constantly, so they need to have my back,” he explains. Mickey hums agreeably and brushes his hands over said back.

“You realize that none of those other dipshits you dated fulfill your humble list, right? That’s not a type,” Mickey points out patronizingly.

“I think it is when we’re talking about the type I love,” he replies, brushing his lips lazily over Mickey’s. “You’re the only one I ever loved.”

Mickey tilts his head, staring into Ian’s eyes. His hand has moved up into Ian’s hair, holding his head in place, so that he can keep looking.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Ian replies simply.

Their lips meet for a long drawn-out kiss, sweet and unhurried. They break it off eventually by staring at each other, their foreheads touching, their noses brushing.

“Who’s the sap now?” Mickey asks challenging, rocking his dick against Ian’s, both starting to get hard again.

“Shut up and let’s take that shower. I wanna scrape my jizz out of your ass and then fuck a new load in it.”

Mickey snorts and lets himself be pulled up. “You’re really my type.”

Ian crowds him, cups his head in his hands, and starts talking against his lips. “You’re really my type too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what happened between Ian and Caleb/Trevor. I couldn't watch that shit. So in my universe Mickey is Ian's first and last love.
> 
> Leave love. <3


End file.
